


The Angel on The Top of The Tree

by Bloodiedpixie



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Carry On Secret Santa 2020, Christmas fic, Domestic, Family Issues, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Malcolm Grimm is an Asshole, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, Simon has anxiety, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Needs a Hug, for now, secret snowflake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28156353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodiedpixie/pseuds/Bloodiedpixie
Summary: Some of Baz's Family comes over Christmas Eve, and it all goes to shit.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 6
Kudos: 71
Collections: Secret Snowflake 2020





	The Angel on The Top of The Tree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Heathus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heathus/gifts).



> Heyo! This is a Secret Santa gift for the wonderful [Heathus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heathus)!! I hope you enjoy it! I've also made a [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7zE22r3JTDazVm08Ih7iSE?si=kXzYv7RnSq63DcFfTlaZ9Q) you can listen to while reading!! This was beta-read by [xivz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xivz/pseuds/xivz)

Simon

This movie is shit. I love it.

Baz and I started a new tradition a few years back that on every Christmas Eve, we get our favorite drinks, my favorite beer that Baz says tastes like perfume and strawberry wine (him and his never-ending love of sweet things). Then we cuddle on the couch and watch a new shitty Christmas movie.

This one is about a big city girl stuck in a small town for Christmas, then falling for a guy who takes her dancing in these sparkly red stiletto heels.

We’re on the sofa, Baz on top of my chest, our legs tangled underneath the cream-colored blanket I bought Baz for his birthday. My wings are spelled away, to give us more room to cuddle. My tail is wrapped around his calf, the end of it brushing up and down his ankle.

“Do you think I could pull off heels like that?” Baz asks.

“With your football legs? You could pull off any shoe,” I say while patting the back of his thighs. He laughs a little.

He has really toned legs. He, Dev, and Niall, (and sometimes Shepard) play football almost every week. I’ve watched them play a couple of times and I’ve noticed that Baz gets super frustrated at least once per game and uses his advanced speed to score.

It’s adorable, really. He gets all huffy and crosses his arms or taps his foot before speeding after the ball and scoring it within seconds. Dev and Niall usually complain that it’s cheating, Baz says there are no rules against him using advanced abilities and Shep is too infatuated with how fast Baz can really run that he doesn’t participate in the argument.

Baz mutes the movie and turns his head to me, his chin digging into my chest.

“Would you like it if I wore red heels?” he asks raising his eyebrow and smirking.

“I’d like anything on you.”

“You’re avoiding the question, Snow,” he says while tapping my shoulder lightly, “Which means you either hate the idea of me heels or you _really_ like it.”

I don’t answer, I just wink at him (But I can feel my face heat up with a blush.)

Baz chuckles and leans forward to press his lips to mine.

He tastes like strawberry wine. I deepen the kiss as he moves his hands from my back to my hair.

Then suddenly, the doorbell rings.

Baz

Damn.

The sound of the doorbell resonates throughout the house and I begrudgingly remove my mouth from my boyfriend.

I look at Simon, his curls are fluffy and askew, his lips are slightly swollen and there is a blush spread across his freckled skin. His beautiful blue eyes are wide and confused glancing towards the archway that leads to the front door.

Who is at our door at this hour? We’re in the middle of nowhere, and it’s 10:30 pm on Christmas Eve. Bunce and Shepard left over an hour ago so it can’t be them (and Bunce would unlock the door if she had forgotten something anyway).

Before Simon can speak, I put my hand over his mouth and whisper lowly, “maybe they’ll go away.”

Simon nods slowly and the only sound is the fire crackling in the fireplace.

We wait a moment; I slowly remove my hand from Simon’s mouth as we wait to see what horrible creature decided to ruin our Christmas Eve.

When it is obvious that we’re not going to answer, the mysterious, uninvited guest starts to pound on the door. Simon startles a little and his hands grip my arms tightly.

Then a familiar voice thunders through the house.

“OPEN THIS DOOR BOYO! I’M FREEZING MY TITS OFF OUT HERE!!”

I roll my eyes and let out a sigh before sitting up.

“At least it’s just Fiona,” Simon says with a shrug and sympathetic smile.

He’s right, thank Crowley it’s just Fiona.

My family and I haven’t been on amazing terms this year. Simon and I moved into our house in January and it surprised no one except my father.

Despite being with Simon for 9 years, and living in our own flat for 4 years, moving into a house was “too big of a step” and “something we should think over clearly.”

Father has never been accepting of Simon, well…he’s never been _unaccepting_ , he simply doesn’t talk about us as boyfriends. To him, Simon is just my friend —my roommate—we just happen to sleep in the same bed and coincidently kiss and hold hands, just like all friends do.

Right as I am about to stand up, I hear two other voices.

“Mum, Dad’s still the car.” Mordelia.

“What? Oh, um, well Mordy could you go get him,” Daphne. I can hear my sister stomping down the wooden stairs of our porch.

I freeze and Simon notices, “What’s wrong?” Simon asks putting a hand to my face. I’m glaring at the door as if I can teleport my family away.

“Daphne, Mordelia and Father are here as well,” I say quietly, trying to desperately keep a calm tone.

I can practically feel Simon’s anxiety shoot up. I can see it too, his fingers and toes twitch and his breathing essentially stops.

He lowers his hand from my face and starts to slowly play with one of my hair ties he keeps on his wrist.

I hear two pairs of feet stomping up the stairs now, Mordelia and the other I assume is my father.

I go over the list of excuses I could say to get out of this.

I could say Simon is sick, except Fiona would still insist on barging in. I could say we’re naked, Simon hates that excuse though,

_“Baz it’s embarrassing!”_

* _THUD THUD THUD_ *

Fiona’s voice echoes through the house again, “BASIL I SWEAR TO FUCKING MAGIC IF YOU DO NOT OPEN THIS DOOR, I’LL BREAK IT DOWN!!”

Suppose I don’t have a choice in this.

I unhook my legs from Simon’s hips and walk to the door, stopping by the mirror in our foyer on the way.

I’m still in the clothes from dinner with Bunce and Shepard. I was wearing a blue velvet suit, but I have since hung the jacket and waistcoat up in my closet, so now I’m sporting blue velvet trousers and a white button-down that is slightly undone in the middle from Simon rubbing his fingers over my stomach.

I button my shirt and fix my hair a bit, I can hear Simon shuffling about, attempting to tidy the room.

I take a deep breath, put on my most neutral face, and open the door.

Fiona strides past me into the sitting area mumbling “fucking finally.”

On the porch is Daphne who is holding two small boxes, Mordelia who looks unimpressed with her black hair falling in front of her face, and my father looking stoic and disgusted at the same time.

“Happy Christmas, Basil!!” Daphne says cheerily, “we wanted to surprise you since you weren’t able to make it to Oxford for the holidays.”

I didn’t want to point out I didn’t come was due to my father insulating I wasn’t welcomed home if I were to bring Simon.

_“I’m thinking this year we only have family, no friends unless it’s a girlfriend,”_

_“Well, I don’t have a girlfriend, and I refuse to drag Bunce over here-”_

_“Basilton, No roommates either, you can bring a girlfriend home, however.”_

I smile my nicest of fake smiles, “It’s very kind of you to stop by, come in,” I say letting my family filter into the foyer to take off their coats and hats.

As my Father steps in he gives me a glare. I still find myself cowering under my father’s gaze. Not physically but mentally I’m trying to run as far away from this situation.

Once they’ve settled, we walk into the sitting room, Simon is sat on the couch, his legs bouncing rapidly while he stares at the table in front of him. Fiona is sat on the other end of the couch drinking out of _my_ wine glass talking to Simon, she seems to be calming him a small bit. I believe she’s talking about his wings and tail; she’s obsessed with them.

“Fiona, that’s my wine,” I say trying to not sound like a five-year-old wanting a toy back.

“I know,” she replies before taking a drink from the glass, staining my crystal glass with her dark red lipstick.

“Hag,” I reply with a smirk,

“Arsehole,” she retorts

“Cliché punk wannabe,”

“Walking overplayed high fashion trope,”

We’re both smirking and even Simon’s leg has seemed to slow while watching us.

Fiona breaks first, laughing and getting up to come hug me. I’m smiling too.

“Happy Christmas, you numpty,” She says as she wraps her arms around me, she smells like cigarettes and that god-awful perfume she’s started wearing because Father was complaining about the cigarette smell.

I hug her back for a moment before splitting and say Happy Christmas back with my own nickname attached. It’s unbelievably calming to have that interaction.

“Basilton, do not call your aunt such horrid things, I taught you better,” I hear my father say from behind me.

Fiona looks annoyed and confused, “Malcolm, we do this all the time he’s not insulting me-”

Father cuts her off by sternly saying, “we _are_ his elders.”

“We’re hardly his elders, he’s 27 now.”

“We are his elders until we are dead, he will treat us with respect. That’s how I raised him, anything different would be a disgrace,” his voice is low and harsh, striking a forgotten feeling of dread. I feel the last comment was not about me insulting Fiona.

Fiona is staring Malcolm down and is about to speak before Simon chimes in, “Fiona how about you help me get some snacks and drinks for everyone?”

She obliges and follows him into the kitchen.

Like during our school years Simon Snow is the hero. Also like our school years, I’m suppressing my sexuality after seeing my family for Christmas.

An uncomfortable silence covers the room as we sit down in different places of the sitting area. I sit on the couch, Father sits on one of the armchairs, Daphne in the other, and Mordelia sits on the floor next to the fire.

“The house looks beautiful all furnished and decorated,” Daphne says breaking the silence.

I smile at her, “Thank you, we worked very hard on getting decorations up. Simon broke 20 baubles, and couldn’t untangle half of the lights, but we managed to get them up,” I say with a small laugh looking down at my hands. Daphne and Mordelia laugh too, Father does not.

Simon and Fiona walk in with drinks and snacks. He brought out the peppermint and chocolate scones he made earlier, and a bowl of sweets. Fiona brought out a couple of bottles of wine and glasses. Thank magic she brought out the stronger ones.

Simon sits down next to me, his wings must have popped in the kitchen, but now they’re tightly pulled in. His anxiety is up.

I can from other reasons than the obvious way he’s breathing and how his tail isn’t swaying but is wrapped stiffly onto his leg. He’s biting his lip, tapping his fingers and he’s holding my hand so tightly if I had flowing blood in my veins it would be cut off.

As my family digs into the food and Mordelia eats from the bowl of sweets, I enjoy the calm a bit. Simon doesn’t let up on my hand, he doesn’t stop tapping his fingers and his wings stay compact.

When Simon gets this anxious, he becomes a bit unreachable. He won’t respond or react very much. After about 30 minutes of talking and everyone being relatively calm, Simon still hasn’t said anything.

I was worried I’d be on my own with this family interaction until I felt his tail wrap around my calf.

I’ll think I can make it through this, as long as Simon is next to me, I can do this.

Simon

I’m about to fly out of this house. I’m going to pick up my boyfriend, and a couple of scones, and then I’m going to fly away.

Mr. Grimm is glaring daggers into my soul as the rest of them mindlessly chatter. Every time I start to loosen up and calm, I see him looking at me and all of a sudden, my anxiety goes back up again.

They’ve moved on to talking about funny Christmas stories. According to Daphne when Baz was 13, he was decorating with Vera when the tree started moving. Apparently, Baz had picked out a magical talking tree with limbs and all, and it put a curse on Mordelia, and she had nightmares for a few weeks.

“In my defense, I didn’t know it was a magical tree, we bought it at a Normal tree lot how was I supposed to know?” Baz asks. Everyone is either laughing or giggling, even Mr. Grimm cracked a smile.

“Here’s something really funny about that story,” Fiona says, “I actually cursed that tree to do that, Baz had nothing to do with it.”

Mordelia gasps “Fiona!”

Baz turns his face slowly to his aunt Fiona, “Pardon me, you what?” He asks through clenched teeth and a sneer.

Fiona can’t stop laughing and neither can Daphne. Mordelia shoves her mum’s calf.

“Were you in on this too?” Mordelia asks shocked. Daphne shakes her head but is still laughing. I am too

“Excuse me,” Baz says trying to get everyone’s attention, “are we glazing over the fact that I have been blamed for this for 14 years and now we know what actually happened?”

“Happy Christmas, the truth has been revealed!!” Mordelia dramatically says as she unwraps a lolly from the sweet bowl.

I start laughing along with everyone else, ignoring Mr. Grimm for a bit. Kinda like my brain forgot to anxious for a minute.

“Don’t laugh at my suffering,” Baz tells me, shoving my shoulder.

“If you’re gonna be pissy about it, I’m sure there are some stories you have of Dragon Boy that we’d laugh at,” Fiona says with the new nick-name she gave me after Baz yelled at her about ‘Chosen One’.

“Yes!”

“No!”

“That ‘no’ makes me think you’ve got dirt on your boyfriend, Baz,” Fiona says as she refills her wine glass.

Baz smirks and raises an eyebrow at me.

Shit.

Baz

I actually have an abundant amount of “dirt” on Simon, but nothing that is appropriate in this situation. I really don’t have many embarrassing Christmas stories.

“I don’t have-” I start, well there is one.

“Actually, a couple of Christmases ago,” I start again, Simon already caught on and puts his head in his hands, “Snow took us to this gorgeous light show and we had an absolutely lovely time, but right at the end of the night right at the stroke of midnight Snow leaned in to kiss my cheek and, in the process, spilled hot chocolate onto my white velvet trousers,” I say.

“That’s not all, we were standing over one of the cords connected to the lights, so the drink hit that and immediately short-circuited a quarter of the lights off in the park. So in a feeble attempt to keep my dignity, I walked off to find some napkins. Right as I’m walking back, I see Snow still standing where I left him, but someone put their hand on his shoulder and Snow replied ‘Oh, there you are darling.’ To the light show owner.” I finish. _That_ earned a laugh out of everyone (excluding my father).

Simon is red as his wings (which are starting to loosen as I speak) and is biting the inside of his lip. I pick up his hand just to show I wasn’t telling the story to be rude.

Once the laughter dies down a bit Daphne asks, “out of curiosity do you have any nice Christmas stories of you and Simon?”

“Plenty, but we don’t have time for sap,” I say leaning back into the couch a bit.

“It’s alright, watching you two embarrass each other is fun,” Mordelia says pulling the lolly out of her mouth.

“You’re a demon,” I spit back, she’s unphased, she just smiles and sticks the sweet back in her mouth.

“Really the date at the light show was very nice up until the end,” I say squeezing Simon’s hand.

I remember that date vividly. Simon had never been to a light show before, his eyes sparkled with wonder. His freckles and moles were defined under the lights and he was holding my hand the entire time.

“We looked at all the lights, he took us dancing under the stars and we kissed under-” I start but I’m cut off by Father.

“Mordelia is young, I don’t see why you _must_ say such things in front of her,” Father says with a scowl, “I’m glad the younger ones stayed at home,” He adds.

Ah, so _that’s_ why they aren’t here.

“Dad-” Mordelia starts but is cut off by Father putting his hand up. I see he’s gotten to her as well.

“They were just talking about a date, Malcolm, calm your shit,” Fiona crudely says.

“I do not see why they must display their…relations, all the time,” Father says as if Simon and I aren’t right next to him.

“We aren’t, we’re holding hands and talking about a date at a light show. How is that displaying relations?” I ask leaning forward to on level with Father. “Even if we were “displaying relations”, what would be so wrong about that?”

“This is becoming a bit ridiculous don’t you think? You and the Mage’s Heir being friends is fine but you’re taking it a bit far,” my father says in such a way that makes it feel incorrect to disagree.

“We’ve talked about this, darling they are more than friends,” Daphne says placing her hand on Father’s shoulder. He shrugs it off.

“Well, they’re mates in one way,” Fiona says taking a sip of her wine.

“What do you mean?” Mordelia asks.

“Nothing,” we all respond in unison.

“I just find this,” Father gestures to me and Simon, “uncomfortable.”

There it is. The lovely comment he had bubbling on his tongue for 9 years.

“What about it is uncomfortable, sir?” Simon asks confidently, where’d that tone come from?

My father stays silent. The whole room stays silent, Fiona looks confused, Daphne seems embarrassed and Mordelia’s mouth is hung open the lollipop she was sucking on almost falling out.

“Basilton, may I speak to you privately?” My father asks yet his eyes still locked on Simon’s in a death glare.

I agree and we walk into the kitchen closing the door behind us. My father stands tall, we’re the same height—though it feels as if he’s 20 feet tall, and I’m 3 centimeters.

“Basilton, there’s no need to keep up this rebellion, you’re almost 30 years of age,” Father says, faking a compassionate, worried tone. One I’ve never truly heard come out of him.

“Rebellion? What rebellion?” I decide to play dumb, see if he _really_ says what he means.

“Basilton.”

“Father.”

“Your ‘friendship’ with the chosen one,” he says with air quotations, which somehow hurts worse than him just saying friendship or relationship with quotations. Friendship with quotations is somehow lower. “It’s taking over your life. Would you like me to find you a psychologist to deal with your…obsession?” He says (fake) concerned.

Alright, I now have a list. A list of what my father calls my relationship with Simon. 1 being the ideal, anything _below_ 1 being the worst.

Number 1: Relationship

Number 2: Relationship, with air quotations

Number 3: Friendship

Number 4: Friendship, with _bloody_ quotations

Number 5: Obsession

“Father, I don’t need to talk to someone about mine and Snow’s relationship. Not anymore, we’re much better,” I say faking happiness and smiling. “Thank you for your concern.”

“Basil, wake up. You need to settle down with a respectable woman and move on from this unnatural school-boy crush,” He says sternly.

New edition to the list.

Number 6: Unnatural school-boy crush

“How is my relationship unnatural Father?” I ask quietly trying desperately to not scream at him.

“He’s a man with wings and a tail, it’s unnatural!” My father scolds

“I’m a vampire, a lot about that is unnatural,” I start, and he starts to rub his temples, “…actually, I think that isn’t the part you don’t like about him. I think you don’t like him because he’s a man.”

“Basilton, all I’m asking is if you’re so insistent on being with men, at least be with a normal one,” he says while slightly rolling his eyes

“You’d rather me date a Normal than Snow, who has wings and a tail?” I ask. I’m not confused, I just want to piss him off now.

“Basilton!” My father says loudly. Not a shout, but loud. Loud enough to startle me, but not loud enough that I can’t keep it together. “I am through dealing with your complete disregard for your family, with your legacy. This horrid display you’ve been presenting is embarrassing,” I feel like a child being scolded.

I open my mouth to reply but he continues in a deep intimidating tone.

“Your mother would be disgusted by how you’re acting,”

I want to talk back. I want to tell him everything I’ve held in since I was 12. But everything I’ve wanted to tell him…dies on my tongue.

Tears are blurring my vision and threatening to spill. My hands start to tremble, and I put them under my biceps in an attempt to make them calm. In some feeble attempt to salvage a victory.

But I can’t. I’ve failed. I should stand up for myself but for once I know exactly how Simon feels when he doesn’t talk.

_“It’s like- I don’t know, the words just stopped halfway out my mouth and didn’t come back.”_

My Father seems pleased like he’s somehow won this 15-year battle with me being queer. I suppose he has.

I stay silent letting the tears silently roll down my cheeks as he keeps speaking.

“I care about you, you know that right? I just can’t see you torture yourself any longer,” he gives a scoff like a laugh before saying. “All for what? To prove that your small impulse was justified?”

Number 7: Small impulse

Anger starts to well inside my chest, and impulsively a sneer grows across my face. I take a step away from my father. I don’t think he’s going to hurt me, I don’t think he could. I want nothing more for this conversation to end and for my father to be in Oxford.

My father reaches out a hand towards me and I flinch away. He looks confused.

Before he can say something else Simon walks in holding an empty plate. He stops, looks to me and I see a flash of pity go across his eyes before he looks to my father and is overcome by anger.

“Please leave, Chosen one, you’re interrupting a conversation.”

Simon

It’s never Simon, or Snow or even Mr. Snow. It’s always _Chosen One_ , or _Mage’s Heir_. I hate those names they always remind me of Watford, of the stupid coven politics, of The Mage. I hate them so damn much, but nothing hurts me more than seeing Baz cry. I’d be called ‘Mage’s Heir’ or ‘Chosen One’ the rest of my life if meant he wouldn’t be sad.

It took me a while but that’s how I knew I loved him. How after everything, after every battle, after every horrible thing we went through, I realized that if Baz was protected, if Baz was _safe_ ; I fought better. I breathed better, I _am_ better, as long as he’s ok.

We fought long and hard for this house, this life. I’ll be damned if someone comes into the calm place we created and makes him cry.

“I’d like you to leave sir,” I say.

“Pardon?” Mr. Grimm asks standing up straight towering over me. I don’t care.

“I said, I would like you to leave.” I say walking to stand beside Baz. “Sir.”

“Basilton, you find this behavior appropriate? You allow your friends to speak to your family like this?” He says this in such a condescending tone, it reminds me a bit of The Mage.

I look to Baz, he has his hands tucked under his arms, tears running down his cheeks and he looks really mad. Not the kind of mad I get him to be, the kind of mad he was after I defeated the Humdrum, the way he looked at the Mage. If he didn’t have so much control of his fangs, I know for a fact his mouth would be full.

“He is not my _friend_ Father, he is my boyfriend!” Baz says loudly, his voice is deep, and I can practically feel it in my bones. “I find your constant disregard for that fact to be appalling and bigoted. I agree—I would like you to leave.” His arms are at his sides now and clenched into fists.

I love him so much.

“Fine, if this is how you treat your family, then I’m going to do what I should’ve done the moment you brought the little,” Mr. Grimm, gestures at me, “mistake mage into our lives.”

Mistake mage. That one’s new.

Mr. Grimm strides past me into the sitting room and Baz and I follow.

“Daphne, Mordelia, gather your coats we’re leaving.”

“What! Why?” Mordelia says standing up from her seat next to the fireplace.

“Because if your brother finds it appropriate to tell me to leave, then I will leave,” Mr. Grimm says already walking towards the foyer to grab his coat, Daphne following close behind.

“Why’d you tell him to leave?” Fiona asks Baz from her spot on the couch.

“Did you hear him tonight?” Mordelia rhetorically asks sticking her phone in her pocket.

“Mordelia! That is no way to speak about your father,” Daphne states putting her coat on and peeking out from the foyer.

“But how Mr. Grimm was speaking to us was fine?” I ask angrily.

“That’s not what I-” Daphne starts but Mr. Grimm places a hand on her shoulder and says,

“Don’t converse with them, they wanted us gone, we’re gone.”

I think I know where Baz gets his dramatics.

“Come on kid, I’ll take you back to my place and we’ll hang out there,” Fiona says to Mordelia as she stands up. Mordelia follows Fiona, they both put on their leather jackets and wool mittens.

Baz walks to the door and opens it for everyone. Fiona and Mordelia walk out first, whispering their sorries and giving their hugs before walking into the snow to Fiona’s car. Daphne goes to hug Baz but is stopped by Mr. Grimm.

They start leaving, Baz and I walk out on the porch to watch them leave.

Mr. Grimm reaches the bottom of the stairs and looks back up at us.

“Basilton, as long as you keep disrespecting me, and keeping this unnatural act up, you are no longer part of this family! You are not my son!” He yells. “I don’t want you to come near my family again! You don’t deserve to be part of this family!”

What. the. fuck.

I look to Baz and he’s straight-faced; I know that face well. It’s how he looked 80% of the time at Watford. Straight-faced, calm, collected, but his eyes look broken.

Fuck this guy.

“Go. Now.” I demand, and they do.

Daphne immediately yells at Mr. Grimm when they enter the car. Loud enough where I could hear a muffled “Malcolm, what in the name of magic was that!?”

I look over at Fiona’s car, Mordelia looks scared and confused, and Fiona seems to be in shock as they drive away.

I wait until the car lights are far gone before I turn back to Baz. He’s still silent and staring at the ground in front of us.

“Baz,” I start, placing my hand on his shoulder.

He shrugs my hand off and starts walking out into the snow towards the forest.

“Baz!!” I say, striding after him.

I feel like I’m in school again, chasing Baz, trying to get him to talk to me and find out his secrets. I know all of them now, I want him to talk to me, not run away.

Baz suddenly uses his vampire speed and runs off into the forest.

I sigh and say “Merlin and Morgana” under my breath before unclenching my wings for the first time tonight, taking off into the air over the forest to find Baz.

It’s freezing. Baz must be miserable. The snow has stopped falling but the wind is hitting the back of my neck and sending goosebumps across my arms. I fly over the forest watching the passing trees until I see Baz standing against one of them.

I land in front of him, he lifts his head for a moment before looking back down and saying, **“go away, Snow.”**

All the snow in a 10-foot circle around us melts away, revealing the wet leaves and dirt beneath the blanket of snow.

I remember when he made that spell, he just wanted to see if it would work because he said that so much. The counter to it is **“come here, Snow”** , that one works a lot better. He says it more.

I walk up to him and he starts to move away from me.

“Baz, please stop,” I say, the snow is melting a path wherever he steps.

He stays silent and keeps walking away his arms crossed. I run to catch up with him (stupid long football legs.) Baz keeps going until he stops and presses his back to one of the trees and sinks to his knees.

This is familiar.

I crouch in front of him and hold his shoulders, hoping the heat in my hands will make him stop shaking.

“Snow, let me go,” he says while trying to wiggle out of my grasp. He could if he really wanted, so I know he’s not actually trying to get away. He’s not looking at me though; he’s looking at the ground beside me.

“Baz, love, I’m so sorry about all of that,” I say, placing my hand to his face and trying to get him to look at me. “Love please, look at me.”

He holds for a moment then looks at me. I look into his eyes, his beautiful grey eyes. It’s like staring into a stormy ocean. Right now, I swear I can see the giant waves crashing behind them.

I give him a soft smile, and he breaks.

I immediately wrap my arms around him and pull him into a hug, letting him tug at my shirt as he sobs.

Baz doesn’t cry like I do. I’m loud; I yell and gasp and sometimes kick things, but Baz doesn’t do that. Baz shakes, hiccups and whimpers until the tears stop falling.

I start running my hand through his hair, holding him closer to me. After 10 minutes, Baz’s tears don’t falter but he manages to get words out,

“I failed.”

Baz

“What?” Simon asks lifting my face to look at him. I’m sure I look horrid, my nose is running, tears are falling from my eyes and I haven’t fed in a while so I’m sure look, as Simon calls it “hungry grey.”

“I failed, I got banished from my own damn family,” I sniffle and try to keep my hiccups down and fail, again, “my father was right.”

Simon looks genuinely confused, “Baz, I don’t know what your dad told you but whatever it was, he wasn’t right.”

Oh, how naïve Simon can be. My father was absolutely right, my mother would be disgusted. I know she was different from Fiona, who is accepting, and who knows my mother better than my father?

She probably would have disowned me faster than he did.

“Baz, stop thinking,” Simon whispers wiping a tear away with his thumb, “I’m sorry about your dad, really I am. It’s horrible, but don’t believe for a second that he was right.” he whispers, moving his hand from my hair to my back, rubbing soothing circles onto my spine.

“That’s very nice, Simon, but he was right, I don’t deserve to be part of that family.” I get out through tears, I feel pathetic.

Simon stays silent, I don’t think he knows what to say. Maybe he agrees.

“You’re right,” he says.

I scoff and sneer. “Thanks, Snow.”

“No, you’re right, you don’t deserve that,” he says a bit faster, as if I didn’t hear him the first time, “you don’t deserve to go through all that panic just to please some who treats you like shite for being yourself. You don’t deserve that,” Simon whispers that last bit, and I start to cry again, but not because of my father.

Simon Snow is the human embodiment of everything good, and he’s my boyfriend.

He’s my boyfriend and he really _cares_ , I worked so hard to help him; to help him feel better, that I forget I’m still an absolute mess.

With my head tucked into his neck, Simon whispers lovely things in my ear as my tears slow—

_“You’re perfect.”_

_“You don’t deserve any of that.”_

_“I love you, I love you, I love you.”_

Once the tears run dry, I close my eyes, Simon lifts my head and kisses my eyelids and then my cheeks and my slightly crooked nose (thanks to him), and then finally my lips.

He rests our foreheads together a moment before he stands up. I open my eyes and see him extending his hand to me. The moonlight peeking through the clouds creating a pale blue halo around him, he looks almost like an angel.

“Come on, let’s get you home and get you some blood. I’ll warm you up and we can go to sleep.”

I take his hand; I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck then he takes off.

I used to hate flying, hated that he could drop me at any moment, and I would be done for. I’ve learned that Simon would never drop me, and he does everything in his power to keep me safe.

So, I relax, I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes the wind going through the back of my shirt and occasionally Simon’s wing will flap and push my hair out of my face.

It’s a comforting pattern of cold wind running over my body, then the immediate warmth of Simon’s arms wrapped around my body.

When we land Simon doesn’t move me, he just carries me inside, pushing the door open with his foot. He stops to close the door, and I unhook from him.

His hair is all puffy from flying and his nice button-up shirt is wrinkled with various tear spots all over it.

He kisses my cheek and walks past me into the kitchen. I go into the sitting room to pick up the carnage of sweet wrappers left by my sister and wine glasses left by my aunt.

I see my phone I left on the end table turns on for a split second and there are an absurd number of texts. Fiona sent a weirdly sentimental one saying I’m still part of her family, Daphne sent a few saying she’ll talk to my father, but I am not disowned to any degree no matter what he says. Then finally about 10 texts from Mordelia being varying degrees of confusion on what transpired.

I decide to accept the sentiments with ‘thank you’s and to calm Mordelia I send a text saying “Everything is fine. I’m still your brother.”

As I start cleaning again, I see two small velvet boxes on the coffee table, one addressed to me and one addressed to Simon. They’re the two Daphne was holding but they have tags saying they’re both from Mordelia.

Curiosity gets the best of me and I open the one addressed to me. I take the ribbon off the box and open it. The small note on top says,

_“Because you always need some more colour_

_Happy Christmas, Mordelia_

_P.S, you better wear these somewhere good it took me a year and a half to save up”_

Under the note is three different pairs of cufflinks, one pair is rainbow pride flags, another pair is a swirling rainbow pattern, the last pair is a beautiful one—it’s made of rainbow gemstone with a gold outline. I adore them.

As I’m gazing at the cufflinks, Simon walks in with a mug full of blood for me.

“What’re those?” Simon asks placing the mug on the table.

“They’re rainbow cufflinks,” I say smiling.

“They’re beautiful,” Simon says picking up the gemstones, “they’ll look great on you,” He says holding one beside my eye.

I can’t help but smile, I’m tired, my eyes are itchy, and my fangs popped when Simon stepped into the room with the blood, but for some odd reason my lips want to smile.

“Drink your blood so we can go bed,” Simon says picking up the wine glasses and walking back into the kitchen.

“What a way to woo a man, Simon,” I raise my voice so he can hear me.

“Ha. Ha. That’s not what I mean!” he shouts, I can hear the smile in his voice.

“Pity,” I shout back, and I hear him laugh. I love that sound.

I finish the blood and Simon finishes the washing up, and we meander our way up the stairs into bed. We change into our pajamas; unlike Simon I actually wear more than pants to bed. (Not that I’m complaining.)

While I brush the blood out of my mouth, I see Simon open his box from Mordelia. A smile spreads across his face and he closes the box, taking it off somewhere into a different area of this house, and comes back without it.

I rinse out my mouth and ask, “what was in the box?”

“I’ll never tell,” He says flopping onto our bed and pulling his wings in but not because of anxiety this time.

“Why is that, Snow?” I ask while lying next to him, well, his head is more on par with my ribs than my face.

“Because it’s a surprise,” Simon mumbles as he shuffles up the bed, so that our faces are on par with each other.

He’s adorable in this state, his beautiful constellation of freckles and moles are only inches from me. The light from only a lamp making him look golden. His bronze curls are a frizzy mess that I run my hand through. Simon turns off the lamp and lies back down.

He smiles at me and we take to a routine we’ve perfected over the years. Simon kisses my lips. I turn over so Simon can press his chest to my back, our legs intertwine, his tail wraps around my calf and he slips his fingers under my shirt and rubs my stomach.

It’s a lovely routine. It’s home.

“I’m so tired,” I mumble into the pillow beneath my head.

“I know love, I’ve got you now, just rest,” Simon whispers, kissing the back of my neck, “We’ll deal with everything another day.”

Simon’s wing extends over us, wrapping us in warmth and safety.

As my eyes flutter shut, I know that I’m safe, and accepted. I’ll deal with my father another time; it will be a long process but I’ll push through it with Simon by my side.

The last thought I have before drifting to sleep is that I retract my previous statement of Simon _looking_ like an angel.

He _is_ one.

Oh, I did eventually find out what was in Simon’s box and the rings look lovely together.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed it! Merry Christmas Heathus!!  
> You can find me on Tumblr at [bloodiedpixie](https://bloodiedpixie.tumblr.com/) if you ever want to say hi :)


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